Life Support
by Mnara
Summary: Set just hours after Andy is left by Luke's bedside at the hospital  S02.E03 . Sam steps up to the plate when Andy needs support, but when things change for the worse, Andy must find the strength within herself to get them both through rough days.
1. Chapter 1

**Life Support - Part One: Allergies**

**Chapter One ****(Set hours after 02.03)**

"McNally."

Andy was dreaming. She was dreaming of Luke calling her name. She could hear his deep voice over the steady pump of the respirator and the beep of the heart monitor. Beep…Beep….

"McNally. Wake up."

_So everything is okay, then, _she thought. Beep…Beep…Beep. His heartbeat was like a lullaby—a comfort or promise of normalcy, not far off. _Normalcy. Whatever that was like_. Beep…Beep…Beep... A heavy hand landed on her shoulder. She jolted awake.

"Andy, it's time to go."

Andy was slumped over the bed by Luke's knees—her trembling hands twisted between his solid, still fingers. _Was I trembling just now? _She thought. _While I slept?_ The beep and suck of the life support machines whirred in her ears, much louder than in her dreams.

"Andy, come on. Time to go." Sam Swarek stood over her with a hand on her shoulder, and gently pulled her into an upright position. "It's almost midnight. There's nothing more you can do tonight."

"How did you get in here?" she near-slurred, her lips numb from sleep and grief.

Sam leaned over her and carefully untangled her hands from Luke's. "You're snoring, McNally. Keeping the whole ward up. Get your stuff and I'll take you home."

Andy stood but kept her feet planted. She stared down at Luke. He was pale and drawn; his face slack. This wasn't the peaceful look of total relaxation she only ever saw when he slept: this body was disconnected. Luke was far away, she was sure. _The next 48 hours will be critical. _What was she going to do? Go home, scrub blood out of the carpet, and then watch TV with a beer and some potato chips? No, she was staying.

"This is not a suggestion, McNally. Get your ass moving or I'll carry you."

"Sam, I can't…" Andy finally turned and looked at Sam. He had deep bags under his eyes, and his hair was a mess, no doubt, from running his hands through it repeatedly. He looked worn-out, and Andy realized that he didn't want to argue. He simply didn't have it in him. And neither did she.

"Andy, there's nothing you can do here tonight. Whether you leave or stay, the result is the same." Sam reached out and scooped his arm around his partner, pressing his hand into the small of her back and guiding her away from Luke's bed. "I'm not leaving until you do. So, if you won't go home and get some sleep for yourself, than do if for me. Okay? For your old partner." They'd reached the doors of the ICU. "No, don't look back," he continued, pressing her forward harder. "I'll bring you back first thing tomorrow, but right now, you need food, rest, and a change of clothes."

Andy _was_ sweat-drenched and starving. Her lungs were raw from sobbing and her eyes scratchy from the tears. As they walked through the automatic doors, she found it easier to think of anything other than Luke. Sam's steady hand on her back, guiding, got her through the lobby, out the doors, and into the passenger's seat of the squad car.

"Just take me home, Sam," she said wearily, as she laid her head back and closed her eyes.

"Nope. The barn first." Sam tugged on her stiff bullet-proof vest. "Can't sleep in that. Or with that gun on your hip. Well, I guess you could, but if you shot yourself in the leg, I think EMS might think your place is cursed or something." Andy tilted her head left to look at Sam. He made a hopeful grin, but it faded fast. "Sorry. Just trying…"

The ride to the barn was silent. Andy tried to focus on the passing lights of Toronto. It was a weeknight, but people were out on the streets, moving between all-night coffee shops and clubs. The city certainly hadn't stopped since Luke had been shot, but Andy felt like her own world was skating on a different plain. Her eyes were blurry, the people on the streets were streaks of colour, and she just didn't care. At the station, Sam signed the car in and Andy headed towards the locker rooms. It was mid-shift for the night watch, so the station was quiet. She discharged her gun and stowed it, then limped to the women's locker where she stripped off her sticky uniform. Her vest had never felt so heavy as she lifted it over her head. _If Luke had been wearing a vest…_

Andy's muscles were sore, but she couldn't figure why. When she was done changing, she sat on a bench and waited. This was the part when somebody came through the door and said, "Are you okay?" Maybe Traci or Noelle, but since this was the women's locker, more likely Sam or Oliver would slip in, giving a discreet grunt to warn any other ladies of their presence. Andy would tell the visitor, "I'm fine." But she wasn't, and nobody entered anyway.

Andy couldn't get past the guilt and blame. The logical side of her knew that her part in the night's events was important, but still just a part. She kept going back to that moment when they discovered Luke on her living room floor, and everything in her body and brain just halted. Luke might have died while Andy kneeled there in hysteria. Thank goodness for Sam. _Right, Sam. He's waiting._

Outside the locker, a freshly changed Sam was leaning against the wall and playing with his phone. He didn't bother smiling when she emerged, but just started at a steady pace toward his truck. _He probably wants to just dump me and get some sleep,_ Andy mused. She didn't care what he thought. She only wanted to be alone with her thoughts. In the truck, he put the keys in the ignition but didn't start the vehicle.

"Can I take you to Traci's?" he asked instead.

"Just home. I don't need the company." She paused. "Or supervision, if that's what you think."

"I just talked to Jerry. They're still at your place taking measurements. They'll be finished up in an hour, but crime-scene clean up won't be there till morning, and-"

"You're right, you're right," she interrupted. "Of course I can't go home." Andy sighed deeply and ran through her options. "Not Traci's. Leo will be there, and of course, Dex, too." Could Andy keep her tears in check when little Leo asked to play trucks with her tomorrow morning?

"Your dad?"

"God no!" she laughed. Tommy wouldn't know what to do with her. He'd probably suggest they get a drink together. The last thing either of them needed. Andy bent forward and rested her head in her hands.

Sam turned the truck on and shifted into drive. "Okay then," he said, and pulled out of the squad parking lot.

Andy was surprised and relieved minutes later as they pulled in front of Sam's modest townhouse. She knew Sam wouldn't make her "talk about it," so at least she'd get that quiet time she so craved. She'd only been to Sam's place once—on the night of the blackout. _How ironic,_ she thought, _that when I hurt the most, I end up here. _But tonight was nothing like the blackout.

Once inside, Sam led her straight to his bedroom.

"Is there a spare room?" she asked, leaning out the doorway and gazing at the other two closed doors down the hall.

"Yeah, but the bed is real crappy," Sam replied, as he went to his dresser and started fishing through the top drawer. "There's an ensuite off this room, and the sheets are clean, so I'll take the spare. Feel free to use the shower." He pulled a couple items of clothing from the drawer. "Here, this should be long enough. Or these should fit if you pull the drawstring real tight." He handed her a big t-shirt that said _Fire and Water _across the front and a pair of flannel pants.

Andy looked down at the worn fabric in her hands, collapsed down onto the bed, and suddenly, she couldn't breathe. As if she'd turned to him and said,_ Sam, I'm having a panic attack_, Sam dropped down before her on his knees, and drew her close. Andy struggled for air. Her throat was closing up and she started to make a strained choking noise. Sam's arms tightened around her and he rubbed circles on her back. "Slow down, Andy. Just breathe." He pushed her back suddenly, catching her face in his hands, and looked straight into her eyes. "Right here. Look at me. Are you looking?" She nodded. His brown eyes were huge and intense. Sam's hands gripped her at her jaw, unwavering. She could feel the driving calluses on his palms. "Andy, you are not the sort of girl who cries. You're a cop. Be the Officer McNally who I know always has my back on the street. Be that girl right now. She'll get you through this." Andy licked her lips, and nodded.

Sam was right. She needed to be strong right now, because if she broke down, she may never get the pieces straight again. She nodded harder. Then she wound her arms around Sam and buried herself in the crook of his neck. In and out, she felt her throat loosen as she took in Sam's steady form, his familiar smell, and his own balanced breath. Ever since the night of the blackout, Andy had never imagined she'd be this close to Sam again. She hadn't wanted to be this close. Sam was always complicated.

When she'd gathered herself, Andy slowly pushed away until she could see Sam's face.

"Okay?" he said.

"Okay."

Andy rose, unsteady but determined to be strong, and padded to the ensuite. The warm water of the shower soothed her sore muscles and seemed to wash away some of the night's trauma. It was like the shock and horror had clung to her skin, branding and burning her, but the water hurried some of it down the drain. When she was done, she slipped the big t-shirt over her head and came out to a quiet room. The lights were dimmed. A glass of water sat at the bedside table, and Sam had pulled the covers back. Gratefully, Andy tucked herself between the blue sheets, sighed, and closed her eyes.

As she drifted off, she heard Sam moving about beyond the bedroom door. She heard his soft release of breath as he leaned in to see that she was settled, and then softly closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Sam awoke with a stiff neck and a cramp in his left foot. His face was scrunched into the back of the couch, blocking out the dim light of the rising sun. He could hear that Andy was up. She seemed to be moving through the kitchen, which was adjacent to the living room. Sam willed his eyes to open. <em>Maybe she just needs water, <em>he thought. _It's too early to go to the hospital…_

Shatter! "Crap!"

Sam spun over and propped himself up on his forearms. "You okay?" he got out, as he shook his head, hoping for clarity.

"Yeah." Andy was standing at the kitchen counter, her hands up in surprise. "I just knocked a glass over…. Sorry." She pressed her lips together like she was afraid he'd scold her.

"No worries," said Sam, before he fell back onto the couch and pulled the blanket up to his chin again. He'd never get back to sleep now. "You need something?"

"Ah…the phone."

"In here. By the green chair." He rolled over and buried his face in the cushions again.

He heard Andy drop the broken glass into the garbage. He remained still has Andy walked around the counter and into the small living space. The green chair creaked when she sat down and the cordless beeped as she lifted it from the dock. He waited to hear numbers being punched in, but instead, silence.

"Sam?"

He rolled over again and squinted at her. "What?"

"I thought you were sleeping in the spare bedroom?" Andy sat on the edge of the cushion with the phone clasped in both hands. Her hair was frizzy in the mornings, Sam noticed.

He grinned at her. "I told you the bed was crappy." He closed his eyes.

She was quiet for a moment, before making a small noise of surprise.

"What now?" Sam asked without opening his eyes.

"It's just…it's just really nice of you, you know, to give me your only bed."

"Don't sound too surprised," Sam said as he sat up (it didn't seem like she was going away any time soon). He folded and shoved his pillow behind his back. "I may not be prince charming, but I ain't a bad guy either."

"It's not that I don't think you're a gentleman," Andy started to babble, "It's just that normally—"

"Don't start digging yourself a hole this early, okay? At least get the coffee started." Sam glanced over at the kitchen clock. 5:12AM. "Who are you calling at this hour anyway?"

Andy wrung the phone in her hands nervously. "Best. I, uh, I gotta be with Luke today. I think he'll understand that I can't work…even though it's short notice. Maybe he won't be at the stati—"

"Andy, I've already done it."

"Huh?" Her eyes snapped up to meet his.

"I talked to Best last night while you were in with Callaghan. I booked you and me off for today and the whole next block, so that means Callaghan's got twelve days to get his shit together before you're back on the job."

"Both of us are off?" Andy looked downright confused.

"Well, somebody's got to drive you back and forth to the hospital, I figure."

Andy looked down at the phone again. "Well, technically Luke's not using his Charger right now, so—"

"Fine. No worries. I'll drop you at your place this morning and you can do your own thing."

"No!" Andy's head snapped up. "I'd rather…I mean, it's just that…I could use your help with a few things." She searched Sam's face, and Sam suddenly realized that she was worried she'd offended him. He nodded, softly. "Good," she continued. "We'll go by my place first…"

"Andy."

"I'll need to get new clothes, and Luke's cell charger. I've got to call his family…"

"Andy?"

"I've never met any of them, but I don't think anybody's called yet. Maybe Best did…"

"Andy!"

"What?"

"Coffee. Make coffee. Talk after coffee."

She cocked her head and took a good look at him. He grinned a silly wide grin, as if to say, _pretty please? _As Andy got up to make coffee, Sam saw a little smile play across her lips.

* * *

><p>When Sam pulled his truck up to Andy and Luke's front door—to the home she was previously proud to live in—her fingers went numb. <em>This is where is happened. This is where Luke was shot with his own gun. It's my fault. <em>She felt tears form at the corners of her eyes, and she closed them in an effort to calm herself.

The sun was just rising in the East, casting sunbeams at odd angles between the houses in her neighbourhood. The advantage to arriving this early was that none of the neighbours were likely to rush out and question her. She and Sam had easily planned their day over coffee and toast. It seemed to Andy that there was so much to do, when really, most of her day would be spent sitting by Luke's side, waiting. She was working on very little sleep. By the time she'd settled at Sam's place the night before, it had been close to one. Her body woke her naturally at five the next morning. If Luke didn't wake up today, Andy could doze beside him. She wanted to be there when he first opened his eyes.

Andy dropped down from the truck and went to the front door. She hesitated with her key, at first, until Sam trotted up beside her and leaned against the house.

"It's a door, McNally. You open it."

Andy was caught with an odd sense of de-ja-vu as he said this, but she also heard the subtext: _Stop working yourself up. Do what needs to be done. _Sam had chastised her in the past for over-thinking the little things, and not thinking enough about what really mattered. Entering her own house: little, she decided.

It wasn't, though. Inside, both Andy and Sam discovered the folly of white carpets. The deep crimson blood stains were offensively close to the front entrance. Andy stopped in the doorway and caught her breath when she saw. She didn't have time to think about it though, since Sam pushed her into the entrance and shut the door behind them.

"McNally. Change your clothes. Cell phone chargers—yours and Luke's. Snacks for the hospital."

Andy tore her eyes away from the dark stains. "Right," she nodded, and headed down the hall.

"And brush your teeth, too," he called after her. "I'm not letting you back in the truck otherwise."

As Andy changed, she tried to busy her mind. She thought about Sam, and how supportive he'd been this past twenty-four hours. She had multiple voicemails on her phone from Traci, Dov, and Chris, as well as Noelle and Oliver, but she hadn't called any of them back. No one really knew what to say anyway. She hadn't turned to Sam for support, but rather, he'd just been there, and it seemed like he intended to stick through it. Sam was easy to be with, and he didn't pressure her to talk. He seemed more focused on forcing her to take care of herself while she was busy thinking of Luke. Also, she liked the way he hadn't let her horror consume him—he was still lightly joking with her, and he certainly wasn't treating her any different than normal. _Perhaps, gentler, _she thought.

Andy sat on the bed and listened for Sam. The clinking of glass suggested he was in the kitchen, probably gathering those snacks he was so insistent upon this morning. Were the snacks for her or him? She imagined Sam in the kitchen, pawing through the granola bars, but when she saw in her head how close he stood to the pools of Luke's blood, she shivered. How could she stay here alone tonight? Crime scene clean-up would be here later, but even with the stains gone, it didn't change the fact that Luke had been shot in the living room. Her actions had facilitated an unstable man to break into her house and shoot her completely unawares fiancé.

Andy reached under the bed and slid her backpack out from under it.

"Either you and Luke have really old-school cell phones, or you were holding out on me in the snacks department," Sam teased when she came into the kitchen toting a near-bursting backpack.

"Can I stay at your place for a few nights?" she said with a sigh. It hurt her pride to ask.

"Yeah. Whatever." Sam dropped a box of granola bars into a grocery bag he'd found. "I like the couch."

"No Sam, I'll take the couch."

"So you can tell Traci? You know how I feel about my spotless reputation."

"Stop. I don't want to impose, but—"

"Andy, I get it. I wouldn't want to be here alone either. We'll work out sleeping arrangements later." He gave a slight nod, asking her to accept, and she grimaced, but nodding back. "Let's get going. There's an unconscious man waiting for you."

* * *

><p>It was getting to be about 3pm, and Sam still hadn't heard from Andy. He'd decided from the moment that he'd seen Callaghan unconscious and bleeding on the floor, that only he could get his partner through this. Still, her night-owling at the hospital, plus her early arrival in his living room, had wiped him out. Oh yeah, and there was the emotional drain, too. He had dropped Andy at the hospital that morning, didn't go in himself, and then went to do a few errands. He'd noted the food and beverages in Andy's kitchen, and picked a few of each up. Apparently the girl had a Cheezie fixation. He'd also grabbed the two movie rentals on the coffee table, and returned them, though he knew she was too distracted to notice.<p>

It felt good to Sam, to be taking care of somebody else. He'd never been as close to a partner as he was to Andy. When she'd taken the bullet just a few weeks before, Sam had learned the truth behind that old saying about how hearts can jump up into throats. Turns out, it's true. Sam had responded to some awful events in his career: gun fights, fist fights, car accidents, missing children, missing adults, murders, rape—but he'd never been so terrified as when he watched Andy's body fly back and slam into the concrete. He remembered how his hands shook as he ripped her vest off, patting her stomach and looking for blood. When his eyes finally focused, he saw the casings stuck in her vest, and he experienced brief relief—until he remembered there was still a shooter out there, and the ring of rookies around them would do little to stop bullets. _I gotta go be the boss now._

Later, when he pulled her behind the communications truck, Sam was raging with frustration and worry. He wasn't sure if he was going to scream at her for scaring him so damn bad, or if he was going to kiss her. Fate intervened.

Sam thought about all this as he tried to nap in the early afternoon. He thought about this new need he'd developed: to take care of Andy McNally. And yet, despite his penchant to make her laugh and keep her safe, he had unwavering faith in her competence and courage. How can you take care of someone while at the same time, trust them to perform well in dangerous situations? But this was just another of the mysteries and frustrations he had with their partnership. Then his mood dropped, when he thought about their partnership, and her engagement to Luke (unconscious or not), and the decision he'd made earlier the day before that might change everything.

At 3pm, Sam called Andy to see if she wanted a pick-up.

"Sam." Her voice cracked.

"Everything okay? Is Callaghan awake?"

"No, that's just it. He's worse. It's his brain."

"But he was shot in the stomach."

"It's my fault."

"Back up. Start at the beginning." Sam started to head for the front door. He kicked through the shoe pile. "How is his brain your fault? Wait, no, start at what's wrong with his brain."

"He's had a stroke. No, they said it's not a stroke. It's an embolism. Like a…a blockage, you know? They say it's a reaction, like, an allergic reaction to a medication. They're thinking maybe one of the anaesthetics, or maybe an antibiotic? They're not sure. And they keep asking me, 'Is he allergic to anything? Does he have any allergies?' But I don't know, Sam! I'm his fiancé and I don't know!"

Sam had his shoes on and he was heading out the door. "Where are you now?"

"In the waiting room outside ICU. All the machines started going off, and they kicked me out."

"I'll be there in ten. Can you wait?"

"Yeah."


	2. Chapter 2

**Life Support – Part One: Allergies**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

><p>Sam had his shoes on and he was heading out the door. "Where are you now?"<p>

"In the waiting room outside ICU. All the machines started going off, and they kicked me out."

"I'll be there in ten. Can you wait?"

"Yeah."

* * *

><p>Andy was a mess. She knew Sam didn't like to see her cry, so she'd found some tissue and was trying to blot her eyes normal again before Sam showed up. When he did come around the corner, she found a sad smile inside of her to share. Despite his recent joking, Sam was quite grim as he sat beside her and handed her one of the coffees he carried.<p>

"What's going on now?" he asked immediately.

"Surgery." Andy sipped her coffee. It was awful, and she nearly spit it back. Her face twisted in disgust. "Ugh."

"Oh, sorry," Sam said, as he switched cups.

Andy sipped more carefully this time. "Thanks. That one's perfect." She brushed her bangs back and leaned against the cold hospital wall. "They rushed him to surgery again. Apparently an embolism can turn into a stroke really quick. I feel horrible. I mean, if I'd known he had allergies to medications. Hell, they still don't even know what caused the clot."

"Might not even be a medication, you know. The clot could have been latent somewhere in his body, and the initial surgery triggered it to move." Andy appreciated his optimism, but she was pretty sure this could have been avoided. She shrugged, but Sam went on. "You haven't been together that long, McNally. So you hadn't had the allergy talk yet. Some people take years to have that talk."

"Sam, do you have any allergies?"

Sam laughed. "Wow, McNally, you're really rushing our relationship."

"No, I'm serious." She turned and faced him. Her hand found his and she gripped it. "What if you get hurt on the job? I'm your partner, so I need to know your medical history, your allergies…everything!"

"Okay, well, I have bad reactions to opiates. You know, the same stuff opium is made of. So, that means I like to avoid morphine, codeine, and papaverine, if I can."

Andy tightened her grip on his hand. "Will you react really badly?"

"I won't die, if that's what you're asking. It just makes me really sick. And if I have a reason to be on an opiate pain-killer to begin with, the last thing I want is to be sick."

"What about food allergies?"

"None."

"Old injuries I should know about?"

"Are we done with twenty questions yet?"

"Sam." She squeezed his hand again, urging him to humour her.

Sam shook his head and smiled. "No. An old sports knee injury that flares up when it's really damp sometimes, but other than that, I'm healthy." He paused. Andy leaned back against the wall, for the moment, satisfied. "Anything I should know about you?" She shook her head. "Great. Well, I'm happy we had this talk." Andy closed her eyes, but she kept her hand in his.

* * *

><p>When Luke came out of surgery, they asked Andy to come back into ICU, and Sam was left alone in the waiting room again. He was surprised when Andy emerged twenty minutes later.<p>

"Let's get some food," was all she said.

Sam and Andy walked over to a local noodle place, where they ate from take-out boxes in silence for ten minutes or so. Sam wasn't used to Andy being silent. He chuckled to himself.

"What?" she asked, clearly not amused.

"You do have allergies," he laughed. "Remember when we drove to Sudbury to get that prisoner. You wouldn't shut up. I said you were allergic to silence." He waited, but Andy didn't seem to think it was as funny as he did. "Okay, so I'm waiting for you to burst into flames or something. Stop with the silent treatment. Spill."

Andy poked at her noodles with her chop sticks. "They told me that he had a full stroke by the time they got him in surgery. He suffered brain damage. And now, he's stable, but his vitals are weak. His brain…they said the neurotransmitters aren't firing often enough…"

"So…coma."

"Yeah."

"How bad?"

"They don't know. The doctor said he could wake up tomorrow or….never."

Sam took a few bites of food. He let the silence stretch, thinking maybe Andy had more to say, but when she just stared at the noodles, apparently holding her breath, he jumped in again.

"I'm surprised you didn't stay. We can go back if you want."

"No, I'm done for today."

Sam's eyebrows shot up.

"Luke's sister showed up. I heard her introduce herself to the nurse. I panicked, Sam. He's there because of me. I couldn't face her."

Sam put his box down. "Andy, you can't continue to blame yourself for not knowing his allergies, and—"

"No, it's not that. It's…if I hadn't of given my card out, and if the house wasn't in both our names, then this wouldn't have happened. I knew that guy was unstable, and Luke called, you know, just before…but…I didn't…."

"So, let me get this straight. You think this is your fault because you were a good cop by giving a frightened victim your name. You think because you listed your name in the phone book just like any normal person would. You think that your actions somehow influenced the actions of a CRAZY person bent on causing harm? Andy, that's that most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Shit happens. There was no way you could have predicted his next move."

"Yeah, but…"

"No!" Sam had gathered the attention of other restaurateurs now, and he lowered his voice to continue. "Our lives—our lives as cops—are all half chance and timing. If you hadn't given your card out, that bastard might have still looked you up based on your name tag, which we know he'd read. And if Callaghan had stopped for coffee, or at the library, or at church, or wherever! He may have missed those bullets, you hear? What if he had kept his gun on him when he entered the house? You are not the only person involved here, and when it comes right down to it, it wasn't you who pulled the trigger."

Sam took a swig from his cold coffee. He wasn't used to making long speeches.

Andy McNally had always kept Sam on his toes, but when Andy started to giggle, and then laugh out loud, Sam nearly had a stroke of his own.

"That's just it, isn't it?" she said between her laughter. "It _is_ the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. All the events that had to conspire…it's barely believable, isn't it?" She lapsed into another fit, and soon Sam felt a little smile on his lips, followed by a chuckle.

"Your luck _is_ one of a kind," he said. "Only you, Andy McNally, can turn a simple car crash response into a shooting."

Andy laughed even harder. Sam wondered if this was some sort of mental break, but he went with it.

"When you opened that trunk," she sputtered, "we should have known our day wasn't going to end at The Penny. Heads! I couldn't believe it."

Andy's laughter petered off, but she maintained the smile. Sam reached across the table and put his hand on hers. "Will you agree that this wasn't your fault? Stop it with this guilt stuff?"

Andy nodded. "It was an awful, crazy day, but in the end, I'm not sure I would have done anything different." She paused, and grimaced. "Except…"

"No, no except…"

"Except I wish I had reacted cooler when we found Luke."

Sam squeezed her hand. "Well, that's why you have me."

They made eye contact. Sam watched the corners of Andy's brown eyes crease as she smiled—a true, genuine smile—for the first time in too long. "Thanks," she whispered. Sam nodded. And winked. Andy giggled and went back to her noodles.

Sam waited until she'd had a few bites.

"Andy, there's something you need to know. You've got a lot on your plate, but it's coming up quick, so I thought I should tell you."

Andy put her box down and waited. Sam didn't want to stress her. He wasn't sure how much more she could handle, but he'd made a brash decision, and the longer she had to adjust, the better.

"I'm going back undercover."

He barely heard her whispered, "What?" Her face contorted with shock.

"After I heard you were engaged to Luke, well, I guess…I figured you didn't need me. I'm not your T.O. anymore, and partners come and go and—"

"I've only been engaged a day and a half." He wasn't sure, but she looked angry.

"Listen, things have always been complicated between you and me," he said quickly. "I figured things would be better for you if I wasn't around."

"You were angry with me," she spat.

"No—"

"You made that much clear yesterday in the car. Don't lie. I know you weren't happy about the engagement." She was breathing through her front teeth, and her hands had curled into fists.

"Okay, I wasn't. I'm not. But I can't tell you how to live your life, and you can't tell me how to live mine." That stopped her short. Her face softened. "I went to Boyd after parade yesterday. I told him I'd take the spot. It may have been…spontaneous…"

"You mean brazen."

"Yes, it may have been a brazen decision, but it's done now."

Andy crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. "How long till you go," she asked quietly.

"About two weeks." Sam pushed his box to the side. He wasn't hungry anymore. "I know the timing isn't good. I thought you'd be planning your wedding, not sitting by a hospital bed. If I'd known…"

"It's fine," she said. "I'm going to take a walk." She pushed away from the table and stood.

"Should I still make up that spare bed?" Sam ventured.

Andy walked slowly out the door of the little noodle place, and turned in the opposite direction of the hospital, and Sam's place.

Sam felt battered and drained. Maybe he shouldn't have told her, but he thought that just disappearing two weeks from now would have been worse. So much for making her laugh and taking care of her. Sam felt like a tool, and he was sure he'd just screwed up Andy's trust in him, but what could he do?


	3. Chapter 3

**Life Support – Part Two: Comatose**

Andy counted the days on her finger. _Maybe five days until Sam leaves for the undercover. _He hadn't started packing, per say, but Andy had noticed things around the townhouse changing. He'd been eating down all the food in the kitchen, refusing to stock up on anything other than milk and cereal. As the kitchen became sparser, they ate Chinese, and pizza, and Thai. He'd started to box small items: pens, photos, notepads, and trinkets. "Dust," he said, when she asked. Yesterday, he'd picked a few t-shirts and two pairs of jeans from his closet. The rest he'd pushed aside. He'd dug a warm jacket from his winter storage. All these things he put into a backpack with his toothbrush.

"That's all you're taking?"

"It's all I'm gonna need."

Andy hadn't meant to continue to stay at Sam's place, but they'd quickly fallen into a routine and she didn't feel like she'd overextended her stay yet. The day she'd found out about his upcoming undercover operation, she'd walked all over town trying to process. Luke, the man she loved, was slipping deeper into a coma caused by significant brain damage. Sam, her partner and confidante had just announced he wouldn't be around for her anymore. She was angry at Sam, for being childish about the engagement and not thinking about her more when he took the undercover. _But why should he have to think about me, _she asked herself, and when she couldn't come up with any concrete reasons besides _because we're partners, _she started to accept his decision.

After two hours of walking, Andy had rounded the corner on to Sam's street, and she'd made her own decision: to be strong for Sam. He'd stepped up and carried her through one the roughest days of her life, and she knew he'd stand by her until he left. Andy wasn't a damsel in distress, and she wouldn't let him leave thinking she couldn't handle herself. He needed his head in the game, and Andy needed to step up to the plate.

At his townhouse, she'd found the truck parked outside and the front door unlocked. The living room was empty, but she could hear tapping from down the hall. The last door was a small office where Sam had his computer and a modest library, and Andy found him there, writing some emails. His fingers stopped and hovered over the keyboard when he saw her standing in the doorway.

"We good?" he asked.

"Yeah, we're good," she said, and she meant it.

Sam fell asleep on the couch that night before she could insist that she sleep there, but she wasn't regretful about crawling into his cozy bed. Sometime later, she awoke when a weight on the bed caused the mattress to dip. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, and she found Sam perching by her side. His hair was sticking straight up on one side, and all he wore was pyjama pants. Andy tried not to notice, but Sam was a well-built man. The sight of him brought her back to the night of the blackout, when she'd _almost _taken so much pleasure in that perfect body. His broad shoulders and firm abs, and the warmth that rolled off of him as he'd rolled her down onto the same bed…

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "About Luke. I never said it before." He sighed, and ran his hand through his black hair. "And about how I reacted to the engagement. If he makes you happy, if you love him, then I'm happy for you both." He started to push off the bed then, but Andy put her hand on his thigh to stop him. She struggled into a sitting position so they were eye to eye, and she caught Sam smiling down at the _Fire and Water_ t-shirt.

"I'm sorry, too," she said. "About how I reacted to you going back to Guns and Gangs. I know it's what you've always wanted. I'm happy for you."

Sam's lips twitched into a smile, and then a silly grin. "Is this the part when we kiss and make-up?"

Andy swatted him in the arm. "Get out of my bed!" she laughed.

"Your bed?" he said in mock shock. "You either gotta put out or pay up if you wanna call this your bed." And then it was his turn to laugh at the real shock on Andy's face. He punched her in the shoulder. "Sleep tight." And he was gone.

After that, Sam and Andy were at ease with each other. They had eleven days off together, and roughly fourteen before Sam left. It turned out it wasn't just toting her to the hospital and back that had inspired his joint vacation: Sam had a lot to prepare.

Each morning, they ate breakfast together before Sam dropped Andy at the hospital. Andy bored quickly of sitting by Luke's side, but she didn't know what else to do. She was still hoping that he'd slip out of the coma and suddenly open his eyes. As Andy spent her days pacing the hospital hallways and avoiding Luke's sister (who visited every day at lunch, like clockwork), she had quite a bit of time to think about her relationship with Luke. There was no doubt in her mind that she loved him, but she couldn't deny that she hadn't fully given herself over, either. When she'd accepted his proposal, she'd done so hoping that the commitment would help to melt away her fears (after all, if she feared that he would leave her, wouldn't getting married just quell her doubts?). However, every night she spent at Sam's house, she wanted to go back to her own home less and less…

Meanwhile, Sam was preparing to be away for several months. He had all his mail forwarded to his sister Sarah in St. Catherine's, and spent several evenings on the phone with her, passing on account instructions, payment schedules, and utility information. The station would auto-deposit his paycheques while Sarah took care of his finances. Sam didn't plan to tell his parents about the operation, but instead, he called one night to tell them the "Good news!" that he'd been accepted to do three months of training in Germany on an inter-departmental exchange, and he might stay on for a while after. Sarah was in on his cover, and Sam wrote several emails for her to print and pass on to his parents at month long intervals.

Andy hadn't thought about how much preparation was involved in leaving your life behind for a few months. Sam offered Andy the keys to his truck while he was gone, and she accepted since winter was coming and Luke's Charger wasn't really her style. Besides, the hospital was a long walk from her house.

Andy's house. Moving back to the quiet, memory-ridden home was getting closer and closer. Luke's brain remained the same—no better, no worse—and Andy felt like she was stuck in limbo. If Luke wasn't going to wake up, she didn't want to keep the house. But how long did she wait before finding a small, cosier apartment for herself?

So Andy lay in bed one morning and counted on her fingers. _Maybe five days until Sam's gone_, she thought, _and I have to go back to the house. _

Sam knocked softly on the door before entering. "I'm heading out," he said, leaning in the doorway.

"Can you drop me first?" she said, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed and stretching her back.

"No, I'm going. Like going for good."

Andy froze mid-stretch. She looked up at his grim face and realized what he was saying. "But you still have five days."

"Change of plans. Now is a good time, so they're going to integrate me in." He pushed off the doorway and headed down the hall. Andy popped off the bed and followed, dressed in a tank top and a pair of sleeping shorts. The tile in the hall was cool on her feet, but she hadn't gathered items like slippers or a housecoat from her house yet—always thinking she'd be back there soon.

Sam stopped at the front door and threw the backpack over one shoulder. Just as Andy caught up with him, he turned and said, "I told Sarah and the neighbours that you'd be staying here."

"Huh?"

"If you wanted to be back there, you would have already gone home. Andy, I know you. You're running away again, and while I don't like enabling it, in this case, I'm offering you a place to run to."

"So, you want me to just stay here while you're gone?" Andy was obviously still waking up, because she was having trouble digesting his offer.

"Yeah. It's better if somebody is here anyway. I trust you not to break my stuff or have any big parties." He paused. "If you want to stay? If not, that's fine, too."

Andy crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall. She thought about going home. Home: where most of the furniture was Luke's because she hadn't owned much anyway. Home: where his clothes would be hanging in the closet, and his art on the walls. She shook her head, because if she stayed at Sam's, it would just be Sam's furniture, Sam's clothes, and Sam's art…but it hurt less here. It was closer to work and the hospital. It was a place she felt safe.

She met Sam's eyes and nodded. "At least you'll know where to find me."

Sam held her gaze. His hand went up to her face, brushing her hair behind her ear, and resting on her jaw line. Andy wanted to say so much: thank-you, you're an idiot, don't get killed, come back soon, thank-you… Instead, she just held his eyes and willed her own to stay dry.

Sam leaned forward and gently touched his lips to her other cheek, and instead of pulling away, he pressed his face against hers in a touching but awkward hug. His light stubble pricked her cheek, but Andy was too overwhelmed by his smell to notice. Sam was like cranberries and cinnamon, with a little lemon. Except after he'd been for a run, and then there was salt and grass. She closed her eyes and took it in. It was the first time Andy realized just how much she was going to miss her partner, and how much the last nine days in his company had kept her centered.

He pulled back slightly, and softly brushed his lips against hers—not a kiss, just a gesture. Then he stepped away, palmed his keys into her hand, and opened the door.

"See you around," he said, and trotted down the stairs.

Andy leaned in the doorway and watched him walk down the sidewalk. She wasn't a religious person, but as she watched Sam, she said a little prayer. "Keep him safe."

"Hey Andy!" Sam had turned around and was walking backwards away from her. "I think I left a sandwich in my locker at work," he yelled. "Do you mind taking care of that? It's been there for like nine days already, so…." He grinned.

Andy laughed aloud and nodded.

He held up his hand and waved. Then he turned the corner, and Andy closed the front door.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello All,_

_Thanks for the awesome reviews. I love reviews and I do hope you'll send me more feedback. Feed the writer; receive story. ;)_

_Enjoy._

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><p><strong>Life Support – Part Three: Stabilized<strong>

Andy went back to work early. She had five days of leave left, but she was bored of watching Luke breathe, and Sam's words from Luke's first night at the hospital kept echoing through her head. _Whether you go or stay, the result is the same. _

Andy was not good at waiting. She was not good at being alone with her thoughts and the hum of life support equipment, and worse, Luke's sister. She'd avoided the other woman easily for most of the first week while Sam was still around (Andy knew Luke's sister, but she didn't know Andy, and the woman's lunch hour visits were easily predictable), but the detective gene ran in the family, and the day after Sam left, the short blonde approached Andy.

"You're not making a very good impression," she said. It was two o'clock and Andy was returning from her own lunch, stopping at the coffee machine just outside Luke's room in the Neurology wing. Luke's sister leaned against the wall and pinned her with sharp, blue eyes. "I'm Melissa," she said, sticking out her hand.

Andy carefully accepted the hand and squeezed. _My future sister-in-law, _she thought, and suddenly a familiar feeling washed over her. It was the same cold rush she felt the first night she'd slept with Luke: the night she'd slipped out of bed and bolted. Or the first few trips to the cabin when, unable to settle, Andy had found herself and a bottle on the back steps at night, while Luke slept soundly in the bedroom. He had always been the rock in their relationship, and Andy still wasn't sure why he'd held on so hard through those first few months.

"I…I don't have any good excuses," Andy said. "I guess I didn't know what to say."

Melissa crossed her arms and studied Andy's face, and hair, and body. She was so intense in her examination, that Andy started to fidget. _Cops don't fidget, _she remembered, and she spread her legs, taking her interview stance, and let Melissa get her fill. Melissa raised an eyebrow, and smirked.

"Okay," she said. "I can see it."

"What?"

"What he sees in you." Melissa motioned to Luke's room. "Come."

Melissa had her older brother's analytical and observant mind, but none of his playfulness. She was all business. She wanted to ensure that her brother's finances were being taken care of; whether Andy planned to stay in the house long term; what share Andy had in the house and car and furniture; and whether Andy had signing power on her brother's accounts. Andy was bothered that she didn't know the answers to most of the questions, but tried not to let Melissa ruffle her. They talked for an hour by Luke's bedside, but Melissa barely glanced at her brother's still form. Andy had seen many expressions of grief in her few months as a cop, but this cold, mechanical ordering of a human life was beyond her. As she walked out of the hospital that day, she looked forward to discussing Melissa with Sam…but Sam wasn't there. His truck was waiting for her in the parking lot, but the ride to the townhouse was silent.

The next day, Andy called the station and arranged to go back to work early.

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><p>Three days after Sam left for the Guns and Gangs op, Andy started snooping. Andy's natural curiosity about people made her a good cop, but she had told herself that respecting Sam's privacy while she stayed at his place was paramount. Then again, he wouldn't have asked her to stay if he cared what she found, right?<p>

It started with music. Andy flipped through the iPod docked in Sam's stereo, and started the playlist at the top, labelled, "Favs." She washed the dishes and discovered a whole new side to Sam Swarek.

"What kind of music did you expect," Dov asked the next day in the squad car.

"I don't know," Andy mused. "Maybe something more modern, and nothing as hard. I mean, it's like…what do they call it? Metal? I think it's classified as metal, but then some of it is like the stuff my dad likes to listen to. Classic Rock, I think it's called."

"You don't know anything about music, do you?" Dov said. He drove. He'd promised to buy Andy lunch if she let him drive.

"Do so! I like music. I listen to it all the time."

"What, like Sarah McLachlan? That's you, right, Andy? You probably have the whole _Women_ _and Songs_ collection, and maybe some Dar Williams for when you're feeling sorta moody." Andy could only raise her eyebrow as Dov slapped the steering wheel and laughed.

"I like music I can run or workout to, okay. Something that gets me moving. I don't even know who Sarah Mac-Lock-lan—"

"McLachlan."

"Personal friend of yours, Dov?"

Dov looked at her sideways. "She's a singer-song writer. Well respected, too. I'm not like a fan-boy or anything, but even as a man, I can appreciate her talent."

Then it was Andy's turn to laugh. Really laugh: because she was imagining Dov sitting on a settee listening to "I Will Remember You." Andy sensed she could find a new hobby in getting Dov worked up.

"Touching, Dov. Seriously."

Dov pulled up in front on a coffee shop. It had been a quiet day so far, but the pace of a shift could change at any moment. The rookies had learned early that it was best to fuel up whenever they had a chance, because there may not be time later.

Dov put the car into park and turned to Andy with a smug look. "Aren't we talking about Sam's taste in music? Which I approve of, by the way. Oh yeah, and your pawing through his iPod. Which I disapprove of." He shook his head with a hint of playful disappointment.

"There's nothing wrong with listening to his music!" Andy laughed. "It's not like I'm going through his photo albums or reading his emails."

"Not yet," said Dov, as he hauled himself out of the car. Andy shook her head, and followed.

No, Andy wasn't looking through his photo albums, but after talking with Dov, she did wonder if Sam had any... She wondered lots about Sam as the day went by. She wondered about the black-and-white photos of cityscapes and canals he had on his walls. Were these places he'd been? Photos maybe he'd taken? Andy wouldn't snoop past his walls and music though, she promised herself.

At parade the next day, Chris sat down opposite Andy and announced: "Damn, something in the guy's locker room stinks!"

"Shit!" Andy almost levitated out of her chair. "The sandwich!"

"Pipe down, McNally," Best bellowed as he came through the door and went to the podium. "Lunch later, briefing now."

Andy sunk into her chair. How could she have forgotten? It had been four days since Sam left, and nine days since he'd left the sandwich. Andy peeked at Chris from the corner of her eye. Was there any way he'd deal with the sandwich for her? What about Dov? He was easy to bribe, at least. Chucking the offending forgotten lunch was in the best interest of both Dov and Chris—and all the men in the department—but suddenly something occurred to Andy: Sam had given her permission to go into his locker.

If she had permission, it wasn't snooping. _Right?_

Andy rode with Oliver Shaw that day, which meant several stops for sandwiches, and every time she watched Oliver bite into another ham and cheese, she felt guilty for not dealing with the (what was it? tuna? egg salad?) sandwich in the locker room. But the morning had been hectic, and Andy wanted to remove the sandwich after shift, when the locker room was empty.

"Yep. Fine. Okay, great." Oliver snapped his cell phone shut. "Damn."

"What's up?"

Oliver sunk down in his seat. Andy was driving. It was 4pm, and they were headed back to the barn for two hours of paperwork before calling the shift done and done. It had been a quiet day of mostly follow-up calls and traffic violations.

"Our buddy Sam has got to learn to keep his head down."

Andy stole a glance at Oliver, assessing the frustrated look on his face. Was that grim and frustrated or amused and frustrated?

"Sam's undercover. That means his head is already down. Doesn't it?"

"Not for Sam. His rules, remember?" Oliver shook his head and laughed. "He always has to do things his way."

"Quit the theatrics, Shaw. What's up?"

"Okay, okay." He held his hands up in a mock surrender. "Just talked to a buddy over in 13th Division. He wants to know why one of our cops is running around with a bunch of the Cato Boys. Says he and his partner responded to a B&E in Chinatown today—you know, the 13th has the whole West, eh? Anyway, they get in there pretty fast, 'cause as it turns out, the robbers are taking their time. Cocky, right. So cocky, that when they pull up, these six guys are walking out the front door of this apartment building, and they match the descriptions from the report. They get chatting with the group, and they're getting the usual bullshit. 'We're not breaking and entering. Just visiting a friend.' That crap, right? But this one guy, he stands out. He's a little louder than the rest, and he knows his 'rights' a little too well. Also, he doesn't have the gang tattoos. You know the Cato Boys, McNally? They have roman numerals tattooed around their necks like chokers. All the guys have different numbers, but we don't have a take on the meaning yet. Anyway, suddenly this one guy looks familiar, and my buddy realizes that this same guy kicked his ass at pool at one of last year's charity gigs."

"He didn't blow his cover, did he?" That was the last thing Andy wanted to experience again. Sam had only been on the job five days, and the last time his cover was blown, he nearly kicked his locker into the women's change room.

"No, no. He's got more tact that you, McNally."

"Shut up." Andy had to suppress a small grin.

"Nah, he just let the guys go, and then got on the phone quick to me. He's none too happy to see Sam on his side of the city."

Andy turned into the compound behind the station and parked the car. She'd never known a cop undercover before, so she didn't know the drill. Did all the cops in the city know not to mess with Sam?

"What's Sam doing in the West anyway? I thought we didn't cross divisions if we didn't have to."

"Yeah, but you can't be undercover in your own neighbourhood. All the Guns and Gangs divisions coordinate. No familiar faces, right? The lines aren't as bold when it comes to undercover."

Andy unclipped her seatbelt, and both she and Oliver heaved out of the car. Her legs were stiff from a quiet day behind the wheel. As they headed into the station, Andy still felt like she was missing something.

"So what? Undercovers cross borders. Why does your friend care if he sees Sam?"

Oliver let a long breath out, and stopped walking. He turned to Andy and hooked his thumbs into his belt. Andy didn't like the tense lines on his forehead, or the way his smile was thin and terse.

"You really haven't read about the Cato Boys?"

"They're not really our problem."

Oliver scanned the parking lot as if he was watching for eavesdroppers. "Andy, I don't know anything for sure, but I do know what my buddies at 13th have told me about that particular gang. I don't think there's proof yet, but if Sam's undercover with the Cato Boys, it's probably to get a line on what we _think_ might be their business."

Andy felt her stomach grow cold and stiff. "What business is that?"

"Human trafficking," Oliver said. Then he turned, and walked into the station.

* * *

><p>"How's Luke?" asked Traci, two hours later as Andy changed in the locker room.<p>

"The same," Andy replied. She unbuttoned her starchy blue shirt and shrugged it off. Her throat tightened up at the thought of Luke. She hadn't visited him since she'd gone on shift again the morning before. _What's 48 hours? It's not like he's waiting on me._

"Are you going to go visit him tonight?"

Andy shrugged. "Yeah. Why not."

"Need a ride? It's on my way." Traci was looking hopeful about something, but Andy wasn't sure what.

"I have Sam's truck. No worries." Andy slipped a red tank top over her head and then grabbed her jeans from her locker.

"Oh yeah, you're living at Sam's place. How's that going?"

"Fine. It's clean. I like the furniture." She snugged her jeans over her hips and slipped on a pair of flats. _What's Traci angling at?_

Traci shut her locker and leaned against it. She had _that _smile. The mischievous little-too-wide grin with a hint of teeth that said, _you can tell me. _"Spill, girl. How'd you end up a resident at Sam's place?"

"There's nothing to tell, Trac," Andy pipped, closing her own locker. "He needs a house sitter. My place with Luke, well, it's just too big right now."

"Yeah, but, didn't you stay with Sam for—"

"Nothing happened," she interrupted. "Listen, I got some things I need to do." Andy gave a little wave to Traci, grabbed her bag, and bolted from the room—leaving Traci Nash with a raised eyebrow.

_Nothing happened, right? _Andy thought about their goodbye, which, at the time, had seemed sweet but not too sentimental. Platonic. But was it? She recalled the way he'd brushed his lips against hers, slowly, back and forth. How he hadn't put his arms around her, but instead, just pressed his face to hers, like he too was trying to memorize her smell, her heat, her energy. Why didn't he just slap her on the back or give her a half hug? No, this goodbye was something more.

Andy watched as Dov and Chris exited the men's locker room, chatting wildly about some game, or maybe it was an arrest they'd made. Dov was always the last one out, since he took so long to change, so Andy slipped into the men's locker room and found it empty, as she expected.

She knew where Sam's locker was. She'd sat on the bench enough times after shift going over the day's events or venting about a call gone wrong. She pulled the nearest garbage can over, and then opened the metal door with an echoing clang. The smell was rancid. Tuna. It was for sure a tuna sandwich. Though it certainly wasn't tuna anymore.

With the tips of her fingers, Andy grabbed the plastic-wrapped mess and tossed it into the trash. Lid on. Pushed to the corner. Andy thought maybe the offending stench would disappear with the sandwich, but the room was still pretty ripe.

She was curious though. She'd endure the stench for a quick scan of the locker. She thought maybe she was doing Sam a favour by checking there was nothing else rotting, but she could hear Dov's disapproving voice in her head, and wondered if she was bordering on snooping again.

The clothes could be washed. This was just a kind thing to do. Andy found Sam's bag at the bottom and filled it with his gym clothes and the extra sets of street-wear he kept. _I'll just take these home and wash them. Hang them back in his closet._

There wasn't much else. Deodorant. Toothbrush and paste. A magnetic mirror, though tucked beside it was a photograph of one of the most beautiful women Andy had ever seen. In the photo, the woman and a much younger looking Sam were posing in front of Niagara Falls. She had huge brown eyes and shoulder-length black hair. Her jaw was strong like Sam's, and her smile—ah ha! This was Sam's sister, Sarah! The family resemblance was amazing. Andy tucked it back, smiling wide herself.

She flipped through the papers on the upper shelf. Memos. Rap sheets. Safety advisories. Boring.

Andy was just about to close the locker when she noticed a small white fabric bag hanging on the back hook. She scooped it out and dumped the contents into her hand. A single bullet casing.

The copper casing clinked against her engagement ring.

Andy was no forensics specialist, but the casing looked to be a 40 or 45 calibre. Hollow point. A handgun, for sure. Perhaps one of the handguns used in the department? She would never be sure without taking it to forensics, but this was Sam's memento. She tipped the casing back into the little bag, and was about to hang it back on the hook, but she couldn't.

_This is important to Sam, _she thought. _I'll take it back to his place for safe keeping._

That night, in the quiet of Sam's living room, Andy wondered about the men in her life. Luke, she knew, was sleeping still and silent at the hospital. The steady machine at his bedside counted his heartbeats. The white probes on his forehead searched for change, or improvement, but Andy was having her doubts.

And where was Sam? Having a drink with men who traffic human lives? Or in some crappy apartment watching _Moby Dick_? Andy giggled when she thought about that first shift with Sam. But it was a dry, worried giggle. The tense lines in Oliver's frowns earlier that afternoon were still in her mind.

Andy rolled the bullet casing in her palm, and wondered.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi everyone. Sorry for the delay on this chapter. It's a big, beefy chapter, so hopefully that should make up for the wait. :)_

_Reviews are always appreciated!_

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><p>That night, in the quiet of Sam's living room, Andy wondered about the men in her life. Luke, she knew, was sleeping still and silent at the hospital. The steady machine at his bedside counted his heartbeats. The white probes on his forehead searched for change, or improvement, but Andy was having her doubts.<p>

And where was Sam? Having a drink with men who traffic human lives? Or in some crappy apartment watching _Moby Dick_? Andy giggled when she thought about that first shift with Sam. But it was a dry, worried giggle. The tense lines in Oliver's frowns earlier that afternoon were still in her mind.

Andy rolled the bullet casing in her palm, and wondered.

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><p><strong>Life Support – Part Three: Critical<strong>

"Dov, you're too quiet." Andy glanced at her usually chatty partner, who so far today, had done nothing but focus on the road, with his hands at ten and two.

"Huh?" Dov looked her way, but he didn't really see her. "Sorry, just thinking."

Another few minutes of silence passed.

"About what?" asked Andy. Dov was an extravert in the TMI-sort-of-way, so the uncharacteristic silence was actually starting to worry her.

"Uhhh…Just stuff at home."

"Are Chris and Gail okay?"

Dov let out a sigh and stretched his neck side-to-side. "Yeah, they're great. Really great. The dog is great. Everything is great."

"Dog?" Andy was trying to suppress a grin because, while she wanted to be supportive of Dov, she had a feeling this was going to be good.

Her questioning opened the floodgate to his thoughts: "Yeah. Guess you haven't heard yet. Chris has been accepted to the Canine Division, so we just got a puppy. A German Shepherd named Rocks. Don't get me wrong, the dog is cute, and real smart, but ever since he showed up, things have been different." Dov paused and brushed his bangs away from his eyes. "It's just that now, Chris spends all his time with Rocks. You know, he's in the backyard practicing commands, or he's out running with him, or teaching him to track. It's still two months before they start the Police Service Dog Training course together, but you know Chris, he wants Rocks to be the best dog there."

Andy was still working on the dog part. "Gail let Chris get a dog?"

"Yeah," Dov laughed. "For Gail, it's all about appearances, right? Her mom—I mean, Superintendent Peck—has been getting on Gail about ambition, and leadership, and all this stuff. Gail wants her mom to like Chris, and Gail's mom likes men—and women—who take the horse by the lead. So Chris wants to do Canine, and if that'll win brownie points in Superintendent Peck's books, well then, Gail's on board." Dov laughed, and then near cackled. He threw his head back against the head rest, shaking it in what Andy assumed was ironic disbelief. "You should see them, Andy! They're like new parents. Everything is about the dog. Everything. It's getting a little crowded at the Diaz-Peck-Epstein residence."

Andy chuckled a little, but tactfully. Dov was jealous of the dog. He felt ditched by Chris, and Gail wasn't helping. _How apt, _thought Andy. She'd always wondered, though, how Dov handled living with the oddly-matched couple. Not that Chris and Gail were prone to screaming fights (or loud sex, as far as Andy knew), but always being the third wheel had to be hard on Dov.

"Do you think Chris will be able to handle a working dog?" Andy mused.

"What do you mean?"

"Remember when you two rescued that puppy?" she continued. Dov nodded. "He was just so…ga-ga…over that poor pup. Like a little girl, really. I guess I just wonder if he'll be firm enough to lead a Police Service Dog."

Dov shook his head and laughed. "Well, if Chris can't, then Gail certainly can. You should hear her, Andy! 'Rocks, get out of the kitchen! Sit still! Lie down! Stop drooling!' She's like a drill sergeant."

Andy had a good laugh thinking about Gail living with a puppy. Hair on her clothes; accidents in the hallway; and muddy footprints everywhere. It was only a matter of time before the little guy got a hold of one of her shoes…and then he was in for it.

"Seriously though," Dov continued. "I think Chris could surprise you. He likes rules, and dogs are all about rules. If anything, he'll be consistent. Chris and the dog are going to have to be a good team to stand up to she-who-is-Gail." Dov let out a big sigh. Andy suspected that talking—and laughing—about these latest developments had probably made him feel better. "What about you, Andy," said Dov. "How's your home life?"

"Ha! A lot less interesting than yours. I live alone in my ex-TO-turned-Undercover-Operative's townhouse. My fiancée is unconscious, and I'm pulling way too much overtime."

It had been a month since Sam had left for the op, and five and a half weeks since Luke had been shot. For the most part, Andy had settled into Sam's townhouse. She'd moved most of her clothes over, after carefully folding Sam's clothes into boxes and piling them in the back of his closet. Andy hadn't thought much about men's fashion before, but working her way through Sam's collection of worn t-shirts and ripped jeans had made her consider how vastly different it was to Luke's wardrobe of collared shirts and slacks. Sam had four pairs of shoes: running shoes, work/hiking boots, sandals, and a nice pair of dress shoes. Luke had no less than twelve pairs. Sam had two ties; Luke had twenty-two. Sam had two suits; Luke had nine. Andy chalked it up to the differences in their working lives (Sam's uniforms were professionally laundered each week while Luke had to provide his own wardrobe for work), but she couldn't help but notice the contrast between Sam's sense of fashion (clean, casual, simple) and Luke's (thought-out, sharp, and coordinated).

Andy had felt odd evicting Sam's wardrobe, but on the other hand, she was making plans to settle in for the long run. Boyd had let slip that Sam's op was not short term, and if Andy could put off finding a new apartment, she would.

A new apartment. Andy had made the final decision a few days earlier after a lunch-date with Melissa. Luke's condition was unchanged, and since Andy wasn't living in the house on the ravine, she'd asked Melissa if it would be best to rent it out. Melissa, Luke's next of kin, was able to make arrangements with Luke's lawyer to facilitate either a rental or sale. Andy told her to do it. It didn't matter which.

"Are you still able to help on Tuesday?" Andy asked Dov.

"Help you finish moving? You won't find a better mover and shaker than me. I'll be there with packing tape and sharpies." Dov turned and made eye contact. "You sure this is what you want?"

Andy sighed. "Yeah. I don't like being there alone. It just feels…icky. Sam's place is available for the next few months. When he gets back, I'll find my own place."

Suddenly, Dov pulled the car to the curb and threw it into park. He turned to her, his blue eyes serious and concerned. "Andy, you're talking like you don't expect Luke to wake up."

Andy's eyes dropped to her fidgeting hands. Dov and Andy had been riding together often, and he was certainly getting more comfortable with her. Two weeks ago, he wouldn't have been so direct.

"How long do I wait, Dov?"

Dov's eyes grew wide, and he put his hands up in the air like he was looking to catch an answer floating by. "I….I don't know. Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"No, don't be sorry. It's just that I'm no good at sitting still. If Luke wakes up, we'll pick up where we left off, but if he doesn't…" Andy felt her eyes prickle at the corners. She took a deep breath, and then looked back up at Dov. "I gotta stay grounded. How soon is too soon? How long is too long? I'm just going day-by-day and doing what feels right. You should do the same."

"Do what feels right?"

"Yeah. If it's too crowded with Chris and Gail—"

"And Rocks."

"And Rocks, then you should get your own place."

Dov leaned forward over the wheel and scanned the street ahead. "Yeah, well, maybe you and I should find a place together." He said it nonchalantly, and Andy wasn't sure if he was joking or not. Could she live with Dov?

"Attention all units," the dispatcher called on the radio. "Fight in progress at High Park. Report of four males. One Caucasian; three Asian. West side of the park."

Andy snapped up the radio. They were only six blocks away. "1505 responding. We are enroute."

"Copy 1505. Be advised, reports of possible gang colours on rival participants."

"10-4."

Dov switched on the lights and sirens, and pulled into traffic. "Sounds exciting."

Dov covered the six blocks quickly and screeched around to the West side. It was unusual to arrive at a fight call and find it still in progress (generally real fights dissipated with a first or second punch), so Andy and Dov were surprised to find the tussle still going down in front of the fountain. Three on one. And as Dov popped the car over the curb and drove up one of the park's wide pathways, it looked like the one Caucasian was holding his own—maybe even getting the upper hand. Until another guy popped him in the head with the butt of a very large handgun. The Caucasian went down.

Andy was out of the car before it stopped rolling.

"Police!" She drew her gun, snapping the safety off. Two of the guys took off to the East, while the third—the gunman—went North. Andy holstered up and took off in pursuit of the gunman, and Dov was quick behind her. "1505. We need backup at High Park," she yelled into her radio as she ran. The guy was limping, and Andy quickly caught up. She tackled him from behind, slamming his face into the concrete path. His arms splayed out in reflex and she grabbed one, twisting it behind his back and slapping a cuff on. Dov caught up and immediately started a pat down, finding the gun stuffed in his belt. "Gotcha," Andy said under her breath.

She threw the cuff over his other wrist and it snapped into place. The guy was nattering loudly in Mandarin—or maybe Cantonese?—but Andy didn't care what he had to say. He was bad news. Covered in gang tats and bruises from previous fights, and missing a few teeth, a quick glance over his body told a story of hard days, harder nights, and a bad attitude.

"You got this?" she asked Dov, as he turned the man over.

"Yeah, go check on the vic." Dov nodded. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will…" Andy didn't stick around to hear the rest of the familiar Rights. She jogged back down the path and found the victim—a black haired man wearing a tattered brown trench coat—just rolling over and attempting to get on his hands and knees.

Andy ran up and kneeled beside him. "It's okay, sir. Take it slow." He turned his face up toward her. Andy's heart skipped a beat. "Sam!"

"Shhh…" He scowled at her. "Shut up. Just shut up, okay." He pushed himself up to stand, but just fell back on his hip, the palm of his hand sliding on the concrete. He put his other hand out to keep Andy from getting any closer. "Thanks. Fine. Great rescue. You did your job. Bye."

Andy slowly approached Sam as he tried to use the closest bench to get to his feet, and when it looked like he would fall again, she ducked under his arm and slowly lowered him to the bench. "Thanks. Now get out of here," he said, deadpan.

Andy knew he was undercover, but she'd also just witnessed the blow to the head he'd just taken. "You're hurt. Let me help."

"No. I can't be seen with you."

Andy grabbed his face and turned it toward her. "I wouldn't let any fight victim walk away without taking a statement first." She kept her hand tight on his chin. Andy would not budge on this issue, she knew this for sure.

Sam's pupils were growing bigger and smaller, trying to focus on her face. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. She gripped his face tighter. "Is backup on the way?" he asked.

"Dov will call them off, but they'll probably show anyway."

Sam opened his eyes and seemed better able to focus this time. "Okay, let's just keep this quiet. Can we….can we take a walk? No one else sees me, okay?"

Andy nodded. "Stay here." Sure that Sam was steady on the bench, she ran back to the car and pulled the First Aid kit from the trunk, then, keeping Sam in her peripheral, trotted down the path a few meters and met Dov walking their arrest back. "Dov, the vic needs some space." She nodded her head in Sam's direction. Dov followed her gaze and managed to remain completely impartial as he recognized the hunched figure on the bench. "Backup's almost here. You okay?"

"Yeah. Get his statement. I'll wait here."

Andy ran back to Sam, and snuggled her body under his left arm. Her arm around his waist, she lifted. "You okay?"

Sam, stubborn and disoriented, tried to push her away, stumbled, and then grabbed her shoulder for balance. "Good. Fine. Get me out of here."

They walked in silence down the path, deeper into the park, where a light spattering of trees and bushes gave them some cover. Andy sat them at the nearest bench once out of sight, and as she dropped to her knees in front of him, her hand immediately went into his hair. "Stop," he said, pushing it away.

She pressed her lips together in frustration, but didn't stop. Her hand went back to his head. "I'm surprised you're not cut open," she said, as she checked her hand for blood. She slid her hand down his jaw line, steadying his fidgety scanning, and looked at his face. Sam looked awful. Just from his face, she could tell he'd lost weight in the last month. His cheeks were slightly sunken, as were his eyes. The yellow colouring around one eye told her that he was nearly done healing a shiner. There was blood on his teeth and the corners of his mouth, which he tried to lick away, but couldn't hide. His lip was split, too. "Tell me where it hurts," she whispered.

Seeing Sam like this hurt Andy. He'd never been anything but the rock in their partnership—confident, cocky, a fierce fighter, and never one to show vulnerability. The worst part was the way he didn't seem himself. He just kept scanning for other people, and he obviously wanted away from Andy as soon as possible.

"Just get your notebook. I'll give you my statement and then I split." There was an impatience bordering on cruelty in his voice that seemed to cut Andy every time he spoke.

"No way. You tell me where it hurts, and I'll treat whatever I can. You can tell me what happened while I work." She was using her no-nonsense cop voice. Sam looked like he was ready to argue or run, but after a tense moment of staring, his shoulders dropped and he seemed to relent.

"Mostly just bruising. Can't treat that." Sam started to shrug off his trench coat, slowly and stiffly. "Except, one had a knife." He unbuttoned the simple red shirt he had on underneath, and held it open. Andy sucked in her breath when she saw the deep slash beneath his collar bone. Blood trickled down his chest. Andy grimaced when she saw the shape of his ribcage rather than the firm layering of muscle she remembered. _What the hell? Has he eaten this week?_

"Sam, this needs medical attention," she said. He raised an eyebrow. The first familiar gesture she'd seen from him yet. She nodded. "I'll do my best." Andy dug into her kit, looking for disinfectant, gauze, and tape. "Tell me what happened."

"Can't."

She snapped a pair of gloves over her hands and started to clean the wound. "I know you can't tell me details. Just give me something I can use in a statement."

"Had a disagreement with a guy. It got out a hand. No big deal."

Andy looked up at his face, expecting to see a teasing grin, but all she got was a serious wall of non-emotion. "That's it?" she said in disbelief. He nodded. "What name you going by?"

"Alex. Alex Ward."

"Okay, Alex Ward. You wanna tell me what the disagreement was about?"

"Nope."

"Sam, you gotta give me something," she said, exasperated.

"Don't call me that!" he snapped. Then softer: "Just say I was in their territory, and mouthy. The gang in the area doesn't take to rivals well."

Andy nodded, and fought the tickle at the corners of her eyes. Even though she knew he was at risk of having his cover blown, this cold, sharp Sam was so unlike the man who, a month earlier, had opened up his home to her. "Okay, that'll fly. You want to give me any more details? Off the record. Just for me." She pressed gauze to the cut.

He looked down at her, really making eye contact, for the first time since their meeting. "There's a lot of hate out here. The stuff my guys are into, well, it doesn't sit so well with some of the other gangs." He flinched as she pressed tape over the gauze. "It's not about race, or turf. It's about ethics, believe it or not." He snorted. "I can't tell you much, Andy. Just that some people don't like my people very much."

Andy got the shivers every time he mentioned "my guys" or "my people," but she understood the commitment he had to his role. "Are you in too deep? Do you need help?" she asked quietly. She was done dealing with the cut, but her hands and eyes lingered on his chest, where she could see multiple bruises at different stages of healing. There were a few recent ones, deep purple, among others that ranged a spectrum of green to jaundice yellow. Sam was getting the crap beat out of him. Andy couldn't imagine the bruises now forming from the most recent fight, and how they would soon join the palette of colours on his skin. She'd seen enough. She closed his shirt, and since his hands sat slack on the bench, she started to button.

"I'm fine," he answered. The phrase sent warning bells off in Andy's head. "I have an out if I need it." Andy was done buttoning his shirt, so he shrugged on his coat and leaned back against the bench. "This is an important job. I'm going to see this one through." His last words held a threat of warning, and Andy took the hint.

She closed her kit and stood before him. Being in his proximity reminded her of their farewell at the townhouse. The brush of lips. His smell. The hesitation in his voice. A confliction of emotion ran through Andy's veins. Luke was still in the hospital, but Sam's presence…her body's reaction shocked her.

She could barely bring herself to walk away, but she knew what was at stake. He looked up at her. His sunken brown eyes pleaded. She reached out and wiped a droplet of blood from his lip.

"I want a kitten." Even Andy was surprised at the words that came out of her mouth.

Sam blinked. And then grinned. He chuckled a little, and even though the smile caused his split lip to bleed more, Andy was thrilled to see a hint of her old partner.

"As long as it doesn't piss on anything, sure."

Andy grinned. "Awesome."

Then, she took a breath, turned, and walked away from Sam—beaten and broken, Sam.

* * *

><p>That evening, Andy sat beside Luke in the Neurology wing and told him about her day.<p>

"Did I do the right thing, Luke?" she asked his tranquil form. "I have this sinking feeling like I missed some subtext. Maybe he needs help, and I didn't get the hint, but then, he was so clear that he wanted to see this job through."

Andy leaned back in the stiff hospital chair, and watched Luke's slack face. The night Luke had been shot, Andy had 'done everything right,' as everybody kept reminding her. She'd been a good cop: both in providing her card to the victim and in her handling of the assailant. But it was the subtext that kept bothering Andy. When the panicked and disillusioned Daniel Baird had repeated her name, almost obsessively, in the hospital lab, Andy should have cued that he was memorizing it and saving it for later. She should have realized that Daniel was smarter and way more calculating that your typical off-kilter morgue worker. Run-of-the-mill crazy guys certainly didn't steal cadaver heads and keep a video diary.

Andy was looking for those same clues in Sam's curt responses. Was she missing something?

"Should I tell Boyd?" she said aloud. "I'm so torn, Luke. I mean, Sam looked like crap. If he had a muffin this week, I'd be surprised, and somebody's been beating him. My gut says that he's in trouble, but….but I blew his cover the first time, and he might never forgive me if I pull him off this job too." She sighed. "I wish you were awake to tell me what to do."

What _would_ Luke do? He'd look at the facts: Sam was skinny, bruised, and curt. Rival gang members had randomly attacked him in broad daylight. He didn't have any backup from his so-called 'boys.' So, the facts said that Sam needed help. Andy was sure Luke would have gone to Boyd.

Then Andy put herself in another pair of shoes: Sam's. He was one tough cookie, and driven enough to sacrifice himself for others. If Sam really was working a human trafficking case, then innocent (possibly young) lives were on the line. It would have been hard for Boyd to sink Sam into that position, and if the op was endangered, the gang would surely get their product (Andy hated to think that people out there still traded slaves and sex workers) underground. How would Sam live with himself if Boyd pulled him off the case before he had a chance to shut down the trade?

No, Andy had to go about this without Boyd. She needed to take a lesson from her old TO and work the streets, angles, and rules. There was nothing wrong with a little on-the-side undercover work.

Andy folded her hands over her stomach and started to hatch her plan. First step: backup.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks for all the lovely reviews everyone! I really appreciate your encouragement._

_-mnara_

* * *

><p>No, Andy had to go about this without Boyd. She needed to take a lesson from her old TO and work the streets, angles, and rules. There was nothing wrong with a little on-the-side undercover work.<p>

Andy folded her hands over her stomach and started to hatch her plan. First step: backup.

* * *

><p><strong>Life Support: Chapter Six<strong>

Sam was sleeping when Andy slipped into his room. He woke when he felt the mattress dip, and he immediately reached for his gun (tucked behind the headboard), but a soft hand stopped him. He opened his eyes and found Andy hovering over him: her knee on the bed, and her hand slowly guiding his arm back to rest on his stomach. His legs were tangled in a knot of sheets, and he lay on his back with his bruised chest exposed.

At first, a wave of panic coursed through his body. _How was she here? Had she actually managed to slip into the gang house unnoticed?_ Then, she leaned close to him, her loose hair falling around his face like a curtain, and she whispered: "It's over. They're all safe. You're done now." With each word, Sam felt the tension that had gripped his whole body for so many weeks just…release.

Andy's face hovered over his, and he sucked in a breath. Proximity. She was so close. Then she dipped her head, and brushed her lips against his. Back and forth. She barely touched him at first, until her soft skin tentatively swept over his, paused, and gently pressed. He fell into the warmth of her mouth. Her lips were smooth, but his were dry and chapped. With a hunger that was both sticky and slippery, he deepened the kiss. He felt Andy slide her leg over his waist, straddling him, and let her weight fall onto his chest. All the pain disappeared. It was just him and Andy.

Sam's body responded, but he had the grace to raise a knee in modesty. To his surprise, Andy leaned back on his raised thigh, grinding on it. She pushed harder at his lips, and he opened his mouth, letting her tongue slip in. Andy explored his mouth, while he ran his hands up her jean-clad legs to her hips. She moved against his thigh, and he almost flipped her over right then. He'd never wanted anything more.

Sam groaned in frustration and pleasure, as he heard Andy's breathing hitch. Her hips sped up momentarily, before she broke the kiss, leaned to his ear and whispered, "More."

This was not how he'd ever imagined it. But he wasn't stupid.

Sam's body felt fully recovered from its injuries as he flipped Andy onto her back and slid his hands from her hips towards her waist. He caught her t-shirt and lifted it over her head, but it bunched around the silver metal that cuffed her wrists together.

_Wait…cuffs? _Sam's trance was broken, and he pulled away from Andy, looking to her wrists. A cool draft whipped through the room, and Sam realized they weren't in his room in the gang house—they were in a steel freight container. Girls and young women lined each side, curled together in fear. Each was bound with rope or cuffs, and their tear-stained faces and parched lips told of the terror of their journey from overseas.

Sam looked back down at Andy. On the splinter-ridden plywood floor, she lay half-naked and gaunt. Like all the other girls here, she'd spent six weeks in the freighter with minimal food and water. Beaten when she was too loud. Borrowed when her transporters got bored. She was only half-conscious, but he still heard her say, "Please, no more. Just send me home. Home. Please, sir."

Sam felt his stomach lurch, and he jumped up, backing up against the back wall of the container. One of the other girls surged forward to prop Andy up, but another pulled her back. "Don't. Don't let them see you." Sam's legs started to shake. The container door opened. Light spilled over the girls, and they all huddled closer, hiding their faces.

Inar walked in. Most of the guys referred to Inar as "The Busboy," because he removed the unwanted product. He tapped his baton in the palm of his hand as he strode down the length of the container. He grinned at Sam, and then gazed down at Andy. She was testing her cuffs, just waking up. "Nice choice, Alex," Inar said. Everything happened in slow motion. Inar reached down, grabbed the chain between each cuff, and started to drag Andy toward the door.

Sam tried to run after her, but he couldn't move his feet. He was knee-deep in a thick, black sludge. "No!" he screamed. "ANDY!" He grappled at the smooth walls, trying to pry himself out of the mud, but he couldn't budge. The girls that lined the walls began to laugh at his struggle. They laughed louder and louder, as Sam tried to get free, but Inar was almost at the door and then he dragged Andy around the corner and Sam screamed and screamed and the door slammed shut—and Sam sat bolt up in bed.

"Fuck!" he yelled aloud. Sam shook his head. His eyes focused on the simple room he called his own at the gang house. It was a dream. Just a stupid dream. He was sweating from head to foot, and when he ran his hands through his hair, he discovered that his fingers were actually shaking. He collapsed back onto the bed.

This op was not going well. No, that wasn't true. The op was going perfectly, but Sam was having a hard time stomaching it in the meantime. Especially since he'd met Andy at High Park. It had been two weeks since he'd seen her. _Scratch that. _It had been two weeks since he'd seen her for real. Ever since their meeting, it was like Andy was haunting him. Whenever he was out on the streets, he'd catch glimpses of her. She'd dart around a corner, or disappear into a café. But she wasn't really there, he was pretty sure. It was just his stressed head starting to lose it. Sam was sure he was going to break, soon enough.

_And what was with the sex dream? _Sam thought. Not that he hadn't had hot dreams about Andy before, but he had gotten a handle on his fantasies after she got serious with that now-vegetative detective. He figured the sex dream made sense, though. Andy was a beautiful woman. He cared for her. His unconscious brain was aching for comfort—for anything that didn't hurt his body and mind—but it was too riddled with demons right now. He couldn't deal. Awake or asleep.

"Just stay the course," he said to himself as he turned to his side and tried to get comfortable. "As long as you don't screw up, she won't ever have to see this. Just keep her distant, and it'll keep her safe."

Sam didn't sleep. He just lay awake and thought about all the women he wanted to keep safe, and all the women he'd watched disappear into the trade. Not Andy. Over his dead body.


End file.
